


A little more of what you fancy

by AnythingButPink



Series: A little of what you fancy [2]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnythingButPink/pseuds/AnythingButPink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads continue to work out the kinks in their relationship. So to speak...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little more of what you fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Continuing the kink meme theme started by troubled_cure's glorious gifsets...  
> [In case you hadn't worked out where badboy!Bodie comes from...](http://ramesesniblickthethird.tumblr.com/post/78825289456/i-think-this-gifset-should-be-filed-under-i)  
> [... or greasemonkey!Doyle for that matter...](http://ramesesniblickthethird.tumblr.com/post/79120858185/just-in-case-i-didnt-make-it-obvious-enough-with)

Doyle pressed the binoculars to his eyes, studied the scruffy article lounging in the May sunlight on the steps of the squat and was grateful that Anson was sound asleep on the camp bed behind him.

Bodie didn't usually do louche. Even at his most relaxed (well perhaps not at his _most_ relaxed - boneless, post-sex) but otherwise, at his most relaxed there was still the sense of a tightened coil ready to spring. Like a panther, thought Doyle, the memory of Bodie's taut muscles against his own not helping his current, trousers-way-too-tight, problem.

But now, Bodie was sprawled on the concrete steps, loose-limbed in biker boots and jacket, managing to make smoking a roll-up look sexy. Fathers everywhere would pray that their daughters never brought home a man like this. Doyle wondered how many of the mothers would secretly envy the daughter who brought this creature home.

It was a far cry from the Bodie Doyle had first met, still stiff-backed from the army and never less than immaculately turned out. You could have placed him in the window of a menswear store and he'd have blended in perfectly. Only the eyes would have given him away...

Doyle kept his own eyes on his partner. Bodie held the roll-up between two fingers and thumb, casually dangling near his groin, occasionally raising it to his lips to pull smoke into his lungs. It was, they both agreed, a filthy habit, but Doyle was mesmerised.

He knew it was dangerous to consider how he would reclaim Bodie's lips that evening, that imagining the rasp of Bodie's stubble against his skin was stupid beyond words. He was already hard in jeans that left little to the imagination and if duty called, or Anson woke, he would be in serious trouble.

But his instructions had been to watch Bodie and so watch him he must – as he tipped back his head to bask, eyes closed, in the sunshine and exposed his long, pale throat. The edge of the lovebite Doyle had sucked on to it the night before just visible at the neck of the black T-shirt. If you knew where to look.

“Anything interesting down there?”

Anson was awake.

Doyle watched Bodie stub out the roll-up, flick the remains into the square of overgrown grass and dandelions that should have been a lawn, and start to roll another.

“Nah,” he lied. “Nothing to see here at all.”

***

“It's more than a man can stand,” thought Bodie, watching the navy fabric pulled taut by Doyle's contortions under the bonnet. Even under overalls, the man had the finest arse in London, certainly, and quite possibly anywhere south of the Watford Gap.

He watched as Doyle wiped an oily hand down one thigh and was glad only this man doing that could make him half-hard in a moment, or the next visit to the CI5 mechanics would be embarrassing.

“Hey Scotty, you fixed your delusional crystals yet?”

Doyle looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.

“They're dilithium crystals, you moron, and last time I checked, the Capri still had an internal combustion engine. Not that that has ever stopped you trying to reach warp speed has it?”

Bodie grinned.

“Turn it over for me and we'll see if it's fixed.”

Bodie pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and flexed his foot on the accelerator, pleased on so many levels by the throaty roar that had replaced the car's repetitive whine and cough.

Doyle dropped the bonnet, wiped his greasy hands on an old rag and unzipped the overalls to his groin. He leaned in through the open passenger-side window, running the cloth over each finger in turn, pulling and twisting to remove the grime. “D'you wanna take it round the block a couple of times while I get cleaned up?”

Bodie, distracted by what else those fingers could be doing, looked incredulous and turned the engine off. “Wouldn't miss that for the world, sunshine.”

Doyle shook his head. “I wonder about you sometimes.”

Bodie winked at him and grinned, “Who else would offer to scrub your back, Ray?”

“Least you can do when I've fixed your car.”

“Oh, I'm _very_ grateful, Ray.” His gaze travelled from Doyle's eyes, down his throat and to his bare forearms and dirty hands resting on the sill. He pushed his lips into a provocative pout. “Why don't you wash your hands and let me say a proper thank you?”

“I hope you only give your usual mechanic a cheque.”

Bodie thought of Len, almost saying farewell to middle-age, with his greying comb-over and saggy paunch, and grimaced. “Nah, he's strictly a cash-in-hand kinda guy.”

Doyle considered throwing his oily rag at his partner, but settled for rolling his eyes instead, “Moron,” he said. “Come on then. Show me why I shouldn't trade you in for an extra large tub of Swarfega...”

Bodie killed the engine and grinned at his partner. “Because, Ray,” he said, “I can reach places that Swarfega can't.”

Doyle was now sauntering slowly towards his front door, peeling the overalls off as he went and exposing his lean, muscled arms and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that left nothing to the imagination. He stopped at the door, leaned against the frame in the provocative, flirty-as-fuck way that had been undoing Bodie since day one and winked. “Come and put your money where your mouth is then, sunshine.”

If Brian Macklin had seen Bodie's turn of speed from car to doorstep that morning, he'd have been mightily impressed...

***

There was always one mouthy bugger and tonight's bust was proving no different. The CI5 agents had broken down the door to the illegal gambling den, knowing they would lose at least half a dozen of the cardplayers through the other, unguarded, exit, but counting on picking up Johnny Cheung, long-established scumbag of this manor, and the latest arrival on the scene, cocky troublemaker Billy Phillips.

Cheung was already cuffed and getting an earful from Cowley. Phillips was still struggling, despite being pinned between the wall and Doyle. Doyle let the threats and abuse wash over him, and pulled Phillips' arms just a little higher up his back. Finally, the resistance stopped. The vicious hissing of obscenities kept coming, but quieter now, so that only Doyle could hear what was being said. “You like this do you, Angelfish? You should have said. I'm happy to play cops and robbers any time with you, mate...”

Doyle leaned his weight against his prisoner and secured his wrists with one hand while reaching for his cuffs with the other. He heard a husky sigh escape Bodie's lips and swallowed hard.

He slipped the metal around Bodie's right wrist and squeezed until the cuff locked with a click.

Bodie started to squirm beneath him again. He muttered a quiet curse and started to wrangle Bodie's free hand into the other half of the cuffs.

“It's police brutality, that's what this is,” declared Bodie loudly, in tones straight off the Mersey. “I'll fuckin' 'ave you,” he growled as Doyle finally clicked the cuff closed.

Doyle, mouth already pressed close to Bodie's ear, whispered - his hot breath raising goosebumps on Bodie's skin -  “I'm counting on it, sunshine,” before pulling back to ask Jax if his prisoner was ready to go.

“Ready when you are 4.5,” said Jax.

“All back to our place then,” said Doyle cheerfully, pulling Bodie off the wall and steering him out towards the car. He dropped his voice back down to a whisper, “On the way, you can tell me a bit more about what you're going to do to me when you're out of those cuffs...”

***

Bodie's feet slapped on to the mat.

“Hey, you're three short,” said Doyle.

Bodie glared at his partner.

Doyle held up in his hands in surrender. “Look mate, I've got nothing better to do than count for you and that was definitely 97 push-ups not 100. I have your best interests at heart, y'know. Got to make sure you work off all that swiss roll you eat.”

Bodie considered arguing the point, but knew that Doyle would find a way to win and he'd only end up doing the extra push-ups while feeling even more aggrieved and humiliated.

“I'll be sure to return the favour when you're out of that wheelchair, Ray, remember that.”

Doyle smiled sweetly at him. “I don't doubt it, mate. Up you go then.”

Bodie sighed and pulled himself back up on to the bars for the last three push-ups.

Doyle leaned back in his wheelchair and enjoyed the view.

***

“You've got to be kidding … sir,” said Bodie petulantly.

“You should know by now I don't kid about matters of national security, 3.7. CI5 has a leak and you two are going to help me plug it. You have your orders. I'll see you both at the briefing in fifteen minutes, no make it twenty.”

Doyle shared a look with his partner and pushed himself upright from the filing cabinet he'd been leaning on. “Come on, Butch,” he said. “There's time for a cuppa before we throw ourselves off the cliff.”

*

The auditorium was almost full. Cowley had summoned every CI5 employee to the briefing, and they all sat in silence as their controller paced back and forth across the stage expounding on the newest, gravest threat to security and how they were going to cut it off at the knees.

“It will require vigilance from every one of you and...” Cowley's words were cut off by the auditorium doors banging open and Bodie and Doyle tumbling through and crashing into the wall. Bodie had Doyle pinned for a moment until with a wriggle and a knee into a thigh, the smaller man managed to shove Bodie away and follow up with a sharp, well-aimed punch.

Bodie staggered back a step, chest heaving, dark eyes fixed on Doyle and wiped his hand across his mouth, noting ruefully the smear of blood that came away.

There was no apology in Doyle's eyes as he stood, also panting, and looking ready to hit him again. Bodie didn't give him the chance, landing a powerful blow on his partner's jaw that knocked him to the ground.

Safely out of sight of everyone except Bodie, Doyle winked at him as he rubbed at his face to ease the throbbing pain.

“I ought to tear your arms out of their sockets,” growled Bodie, aiming a kick hard into the carpet next to Doyle's chest. Doyle shouted as if in agony and curled himself into a ball.

“You're both suspended without pay for two weeks!” said an angry Scottish voice. Doyle was impressed at how fast their boss could move when it pleased him. “Get out of my sight.”

Bodie, nostrils flaring, eyeballed Cowley and then slammed himself through the doors once again. No one followed him. Doyle pushed away an offered helping hand and got to his knees. For a moment Cowley thought Doyle would speak, but he simply glared at his boss and stalked out of the auditorium too.

*

Doyle ran a thumb tenderly over Bodie's split and swollen lip before dusting a light kiss to the injury.

“At least the Cow's plan worked quickly,” he murmured.

“Yeah, Orton was trying to recruit me before I'd finished me second pint,” said Bodie, his eyes on the angry bruise on Doyle's jaw.

“You can kiss it better if you like,” said Doyle.

“Oh, I intend to, Ray,” said Bodie rolling his body on top of Doyle's, “till it's better than new.”

***

“I warned you, Bodie...” The voice in his ear is menacing, the arm around his throat isn't hurting him – yet, the match on the telly is utterly forgotten.

He tries to reply but the blood seems to be draining from his brain and the throttle hold isn't helping matters.

His assailant seems to know all this and relaxes the grip just a fraction.

“I'm sorry,” he manages, “I was, was thirsty.”

“Ohhhh,” the voice is knowing. “You were _thirsty._ And, presumably so deranged with dehydration that you drank the last of me milk and forgot to buy some more.”

Bodie attempts to swallow. Doyle can feel the bob of his Adam's apple against his arm and retightens his hold. By a fraction. He feels Bodie tense again and smiles to himself. “On your feet,” he orders, pulling Bodie upwards.

Bodie, clumsy in the darkness and encumbered by a massive hard-on, stumbles to his feet. Doyle moves so he has a better view, but doesn't relinquish his hold. With his free hand he reaches around Bodie to undo his partner's trousers and free his cock from his underwear. A husky sigh escapes Bodie's lips. Doyle considers dropping to his knees but he's long fancied running this experiment and it would be a shame to stop now.

He lets his fingers drift up Bodie's cock, and in the flickering light from the TV, watches himself sweep a thumb over the head. It's slick with pre-cum and he can't resist licking it off, right next to Bodie's ear and letting a small moan vibrate against Bodie's skin.

He slicks his fingers with spit and returns them to Bodie's cock. The tiny whimper this elicits makes his own cock, trapped in his jeans, achingly hard.

He starts to slide and pull, twist and caress, watching Bodie's face intently, careful not to lose himself in pleasure. He feels as much as sees the moment before Bodie comes and tightens the throttle hold as much as he dares.

Bodie cries out as he comes and Doyle immediately relaxes his grip. Bodie sags backwards into him and Doyle cards his clean fingers through his partner's hair. “All right, sunshine?” he murmurs.

Bodie still can't speak, just nods.

“Let that be a lesson to you not to steal all me milk,” says Doyle. Bodie just laughs all the way to the half-time whistle before unzipping Doyle's jeans and slowly sliding his lips over his cock. Doyle's not the only one who's been doing some illicit homework. Bodie's been working on a party trick of his own for some time and now seems to be an ideal moment to try it out. 

Doyle is lying back on the sofa, out of his mind with arousal and looking at Bodie with such unshuttered emotion it makes Bodie's heart fold in two. He's waiting for Bodie to wrap his hand around the base of his cock, but Bodie has other plans. He runs his tongue along Doyle's cock and gives him a cheeky wink before slowly taking the whole shaft into his mouth. It's taken weeks to be able to do this but the look on Doyle's face and the, frankly, inhuman sound escaping his lips makes it entirely worthwhile.

Doyle feels his cock brush against the back of Bodie's throat and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to move. Bodie's eyes are smiling as he pulls back a little, his tongue teasing along the silk-smooth skin, and then deep throats once more. Doyle's head falls back on the sofa, the upholstery fisted in his hands as he fights the temptation to fuck Bodie's mouth. Bodie just keeps the exquisite torture going and going, flickering tongue, sliding lips and those moments of utter engulfment until Doyle hisses a warning and Bodie hollows out his cheeks as Doyle comes with a sigh and indistinguishable curse.

Bodie hauls himself back on to the sofa and lands a hand heavily on Doyle's thigh. "We even now?"

Doyle snorts. "Technically, you still owe me milk for me Shredded Wheat, but under the circumstances, I'll let it go," he says magnanimously.

Bodie, unseen in the darkness, rolls his eyes. "Next time Anson doubts your generosity Ray, I will share this little anecdote to prove him wrong."

Doyle considers the look on Anson's face if Bodie carries out this threat. "You'd scar the boy for life."

"No more than he deserves. He nicked one of my Yorkies last week."

"How'd you know it was Anson?"

"Only two people knew I had chocolate. You and Anson. And you'd never steal _chocolate,_ so I deduced the criminal must have been Anson," says Bodie loftily.

"Right," says Doyle, nodding. "Did it occur to you, Sherlock, that I might have a motive for liberating your Yorkie other than eating it?"

Bodie slowly turns his head, a crinkle between his brows. "You wha...?"

"All sorts you can do with a chocolate bar, Bodie," says Doyle casually.

Bodie's mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish.

Doyle forces himself to keep a straight face as he reaches to squeeze Bodie's hand. "And if you're a _very_ good boy tonight, you might get afters..."


End file.
